by J. M. Barrie
CHAPTER XVI
THE BARBER OF ROTTEN ROW
Rob started when he saw Mary's father.
'We have met before, Mr. Angus,' said the colonel courteously.
'Yes,' answered Rob, without a tremor; 'at Dome Castle, was it not?'
This was the Angus who had once been unable to salute anybody withoutwondering what on earth he ought to say next. This was the colonel whosehand had gaped five minutes before for Rob's throat. The frown on theface of Mary's father was only a protest against her lover's improvedappearance. Rob was no longer the hobbledehoy of last Christmas. He wasrather particular about the cut of his coat. He had forgotten that hewas not a colonel's social equal. In short, when he entered a room nowhe knew what to do with his hat. Their host saw the two men measuringeach other. Dick never smiled, but sometimes his mouth twitched, as now.
'You had something special to tell me, had you not?' he asked Rob.
'Well,' Rob replied, with hesitation, 'I have something for you in myrooms.'
'Suppose my father,' began Dick, meaning to invite the colonel upstairs,but pausing as he saw Rob's brows contract. The colonel saw too, andresented it. No man likes to be left on the outskirts of a secret.
'Run up yourself, Abinger,' Rob said, seating himself near Mary'sfather; 'and, stop, here are my keys. I locked it in.'
'Why,' asked Dick, while his father also looked up, 'have you somesavage animal up there?'
'No,' Rob said, 'it is very tame.'
Dick climbed the stair, after casting a quizzical look behind him, whichmeant that he wondered how long the colonel and Rob would last in asmall room together. He unlocked the door of Rob's chambers more quicklythan he opened it, for he had no notion of what might be caged upinside, and as soon as he had entered he stopped, amazed. All men ofcourse are amazed once in their lives--when they can get a girl to lookat them. This was Dick's second time.
It was the hour of the evening when another ten minutes can be stolenfrom the day by a readjustment of one's window curtains. Rob's blind,however, had given way in the cords, and instead of being pulled up wastwisted into two triangles. Just sufficient light straggled through thewindow to let Dick see the man who was standing on the hearthrug lookingsullenly at his boots. There was a smell of oil in the room.
Dowton!' Dick exclaimed; 'what masquerade is this?'
The other put up his elbow as if to ward off a blow, and then Dickopened the eyes of anger.
'Oh,' he said, 'it is you, is it?'
They stood looking at each other in silence.
'Just stand there, my fine fellow,' Dick said, 'until I light the gas. Imust have a better look at you.'
The stranger turned longing eyes on the door as the light struck him.
'Not a single step in that direction,' said Dick, 'unless you want to goover the banisters.'
Abinger came closer to the man who was Sir Clement Dowton's double, andlooked him over. He wore a white linen jacket, and an apron to match,and it would have been less easy to mistake him for a baronet aping thebarber than it had been for the barber to ape the baronet.
'Your name?' asked Dick.
'Josephs,' the other mumbled.
'You are a barber, I presume?'
'I follow the profession of hair-dressing,' replied Josephs, with hisfirst show of spirit.
Had Dick not possessed an inscrutable face, Josephs would have knownthat his inquisitor was suffering from a sense of the ludicrous. Dickhad just remembered that his father was downstairs.
'Well, Josephs, I shall have to hand you over to the police.'
'I think not,' said Josephs, in his gentlemanly voice.
'Why not?' asked Dick.
'Because then it would all come out.'
'What would all come out?'
'The way your father was deceived. The society papers would make a greatdeal of it, and he would not like that.'
Dick groaned, though the other did not hear him.
'You read the society journals, Josephs?'
'Rather!' said Josephs.
'Perhaps you write for them?'
Josephs did not say.
'Well, how were you brought here?' Dick asked.
'Your friend,' said Josephs sulkily, 'came into our place of business inSouthampton Row half an hour ago, and saw me. He insisted on bringing mehere at once in a cab. I wanted to put on a black coat, but he would nothear of it.'
'Ah, then, I suppose you gave Mr. Angus the full confession of yourroguery as you came along?'
'He would not let me speak,' said Josephs. 'He said it was no affair ofhis.'
'No? Then you will be so good as to favour me with the pretty story.'
Dick lit a cigar and seated himself. The sham baronet looked undecidedlyat a chair.
'Certainly not,' said Dick; 'you can stand.'
Josephs told his tale demurely, occasionally with a gleam of humour, andsometimes with a sigh. His ambition to be a gentleman, but with nodesire to know the way, had come to him one day in his youth whenanother gentleman flung a sixpence at him. In a moment Josephs saw whatit was to belong to the upper circles. He hurried to a street corner toget his boots blacked, tossed the menial the sixpence, telling him tokeep the change, and returned home in an ecstasy, penniless, but with anobject in life. That object was to do it again.
At the age of eighteen Josephs slaved merrily during the week, but hadnever any money by Monday morning. He was a gentleman every Saturdayevening. Then he lived; for the remainder of the week he was a barber.One of his delights at this period was to have his hair cut atTruefitt's and complain that it was badly done. Having reproved hisattendant in a gentlemanly way, he tipped him handsomely and retired ina glory. It was about this time that he joined a Conservativeassociation.
Soon afterwards Josephs was to be seen in Rotten Row, in elegantapparel, hanging over the railing. He bowed and raised his hat to theladies who took his fancy, and, though they did not respond, glowed withthe sensation of being practically a man of fashion. Then he returned tothe shop.
The years glided by, and Josephs discovered that he was perfectlycontent to remain a hairdresser if he could be a gentleman now andagain. Having supped once in a fashionable restaurant, he was satisfiedfor a fortnight or so with a sausage and onions at home. Then thecraving came back. He saved up for two months on one occasion, and thentook Saturday to Monday at Cookham, where he passed as Henry K. TalbotDevereux. He was known to the waiters and boatmen there as the gentlemanwho had quite a pleasure in tossing them half-crowns, and for a monthafterwards he had sausage without onions. So far this holiday had beenthe memory of his life. He studied the manners and language of thegentlemen who came to the shop in which he was employed, and began todream of a big thing annually. He had learnt long ago that he wasremarkably good-looking.
For a whole year Josephs abstained from being a gentleman except in thesmallest way, for he was burning to have a handle to his name, andfeared that it could not be done at less than twenty pounds. His week'sholiday came, and found Josephs not ready for it. He had only twelvepounds. With a self-denial that was magnificent he crushed hisaspirations, took only two days of delight at Brighton, and continued tosave up for the title. Next summer saw him at the Anglers' Retreat, nearDome Castle. 'Sir Clement Dowton' was the name on his Gladstone bag. Adozen times a day he looked at it till it frightened him, and then hetore the label off. Having done so, he put on a fresh one.
Josephs had selected his baronetcy with due care. Years previously hehad been told that he looked like the twin-brother of Sir ClementDowton, and on inquiry he had learned that the baronet was not inEngland. As for the Anglers' Retreat, he went there because he had heardthat it was frequented by persons in the rank of life to which it washis intention to belong for the next week. He had never heard of ColonelAbinger until they met. The rest is known. Josephs dwelt on hisresidence at Dome Castle with his eyes shut, like a street-arablingering lovingly over the grating of a bakery.
'Well, you are a very admirable rogu
e,' Dick said, when Josephs hadbrought his story to an end, 'and, though I shall never be proud again,your fluency excuses our blindness. Where did you pick it up?' Thebarber glowed with gratification.
'It came naturally to me,' he answered. 'I was intended for a gentleman.I dare say, now, I am about the only case on record of a man who took topickles and French sauces the first time he tried them. Mushrooms werenot an acquired taste with me, nor black coffee, nor caviare, norliqueurs, and I enjoy celery with my cheese. What I liked best of allwas the little round glasses you dip your fingers into when the dinneris finished. I dream of them still.'
'You are burst up for the present, Josephs, I presume?'
'Yes, but I shall be able to do something in a small way next Christmas.I should like to put it off till summer, but I can't.'
'There must be no more donning the name of Dowton,' said Dick, trying tobe stern.
'I suppose I shall have to give that up,' the barber said with a sigh.'I had to bolt, you see, last time, before I meant to go.'
'Ah, you have not told me yet the why and wherefore of those suddendisappearances. Excuse my saying so, Josephs, but they were scarcelygentlemanly.'
'I know it,' said Josephs sadly, 'but however carefully one plans athing, it may take a wrong turning. The first time I was at the castle Imeant to leave in a carriage and pair, waving my handkerchief, but itcould not be done at the money.'
'The colonel would have sent you to Silchester in his own trap.'
'Ah, I wanted a brougham. You see I had been a little extravagant at theinn, and I could not summon up courage to leave the castle withouttipping the servants all round.'
'So you waited till you were penniless, and then stole away?'
'Not quite penniless,' said Josephs; 'I had three pounds left, but----'
He hesitated.
'You see,' he blurted out, blushing at last, 'my old mother is dependenton me, and I kept the three pounds for her.'
Dick took his cigar from his mouth.
'I am sorry to hear this, Josephs,' he said, 'because I meant to boxyour ears presently, and I don't know that I can do it now. How aboutthe sudden termination to the visit you honoured the colonel with lastChristmas?'
'I had to go,' said Josephs, 'because I read that Sir Clement Dowton hadreturned to England. Besides, I was due at the shop.'
'But you had an elegant time while your money held out?'
Josephs wiped a smile from his face.
'It was grand,' he said. 'I shall never know such days again.'
'I hope not, Josephs. Was there no streak of cloud in those halcyondays?'
The barber sighed heavily.
'Ay, there was,' he said, 'hair oil.'
'Explain yourself, my gentle hairdresser.'
'Gentlemen,' said Josephs, 'don't use hair oil. I can't live without it.That is my only stumbling-block to being a gentleman.'
He put his fingers through his hair, and again Dick sniffed the odour ofoil.
'I had several bottles of it with me,' Josephs continued, 'but I darednot use it.'
'This is interesting,' said Dick. 'I should like to know now, from youwho have tried both professions, whether you prefer the gentleman to thebarber.'
'I do and I don't,' answered Josephs. 'Hair-dressing suits me best as abusiness, but gentility for pleasure. A fortnight of the gentleman setsme up for the year. I should not like to be a gentleman all the yearround.'
'The hair oil is an insurmountable obstacle.'
'Yes,' said the barber; 'besides, to be a gentleman is rather hardwork.'
'I dare say it is,' said Dick, 'when you take a short cut to it. Well, Ipresume this interview is at an end. You may go.'
He jerked his foot in the direction of the door, but Josephs hesitated.
'Colonel Abinger well?' asked the barber.
'The door, Josephs,' replied Dick.
'And Miss Abinger?'
Dick gave the barber a look that hurried him out of the room and downthe stairs. Abinger's mouth twitched every time he took the cigar out ofit, until he started to his feet.
'I have forgotten that Angus and my father are together,' he murmured.'I wonder,' he asked himself, as he returned to his own chambers, 'howthe colonel will take this? Must he be told? I think so.'
Colonel Abinger was told, as soon as Rob had left, and it added so muchfuel to his passion that it put the fire out.
'If the story gets abroad,' he said, with a shudder, 'I shall never holdup my head again.'
'It is a safe secret,' Dick answered; 'the fellow would not dare tospeak of it anywhere. He knows what that would mean for himself.'
'Angus knows of it. Was it like the chivalrous soul you make him toflout this matter before us?'
'You are hard up for an argument against Angus, father. I made himpromise to let me know if he ever came on the track of the impostor, andyou saw how anxious he was to keep the discovery from you. He asked meat the door when he was going out not to mention it to either you orMary.'
'Confound him,' cried the colonel testily; 'but he is right about Mary;we need not speak of it to her. She never liked the fellow.'
'That was fortunate,' said Dick, 'but you did, father. You thought thatJosephs was a gentleman, and you say that Angus is not. Perhaps you havemade a mistake in both cases.'
'I say nothing against Angus,' replied the colonel, 'except that I don'twant him to marry my daughter.'
'Oh, you and he got on well together, then?'
'He can talk. The man has improved.'
'You did not talk about Mary?' asked Dick.
'We never mentioned her; how could I, when he supposes her engaged toDowton? I shall talk about him to her, though.'
Two days afterwards Dick asked his father if he had talked to Mary aboutAngus yet.
'No, Richard,' the old man admitted feebly, 'I have not. The fact isthat she is looking so proud and stately just now, that I feel nervousabout broaching the subject.'
'That is exactly how I feel,' said Dick, 'but Nell told me to-day that,despite her hauteur before us, Mary is wearing her heart away.'
The colonel's fingers beat restlessly on the mantelpiece.
'I'm afraid she does care for Angus,' he said.
'As much as he cares for her, I believe,' replied Dick. 'Just think,' headded bitterly, 'that these two people love each other for the best thatis in them, one of the rarest things in life, and are nevertheless to bekept apart. Look here.'
Dick drew aside his blind, and pointed to a light cast on the oppositewall from a higher window.
'That is Angus's light,' he said. 'On such a night as this, when he isnot wanted at the _Wire_, you will see that light blazing into themorning. Watch that moving shadow; it is the reflection of his arm as hesits there writing, writing, writing with nothing to write for, and onlydespair to face him when he stops. Is it not too bad?'
'They will forget each other in time,' said the colonel. 'Let Dowtonhave another chance. He is to be at the Lodge.'
'But if they don't forget each other; if Dowton fails again, and Marycontinues to eat her heart in silence, what then?'
'We shall see.'
'Look here, father. I cannot play this pitiful part before Angus forever. Let us make a bargain. Dowton gets a second chance; if he does notsucceed, it is Angus's turn. Do you promise me so much?'
'I cannot say,' replied the colonel thoughtfully. 'It may come to that.'
Rob was as late in retiring to rest that night as Dick had predicted,but he wrote less than usual. He had something to think of as he pacedhis room, for, unlike her father and brother, he knew that when Marywas a romantic schoolgirl she had dressed the sham baronet, as a childmay dress her doll, in the virtues of a hero. He shuddered to think ofher humiliation should she ever hear the true story of Josephs--as shenever did. Yet many a lady of high degree has given her heart to abaronet who was better fitted to be a barber.
